The end
by Bamb1
Summary: Okay, wow. I know this is bad. Sorry. Um, it's s sort of AU or something? I don't know. Nepeta dies by Gamzee's hand. TW: Rape, mild gore, and major character death. Also kind of makes Gamzee out to be the bad guy.


"Equius?" I sob. I don't remember much of what happened before I pounced. I remember being in a too-tight space with only little slats of light to see. I remember seeing Gamzee, then seeing blue. Now, all I see is red. I shut my eyes and immerse myself in memory.

* * *

Equius—I'll start there. He'd sat idly by, his eyes blank, as Gamzee stole from me what I'd protected for so many sweeps. He must've seen it all: The aubergine tendril, threatening me in my weakest spots. The eyes, filled with ugly lust. I couldn't see anything but his eyes, myself. It's odd, comical even, that he wouldn't even look at me. I'm sure that in some corner of his mind, he was appalled at himself.

Though I was blind to his actions, I could feel things very clearly. His hands, groping, hungry for soft flesh. He curled like a snake, bit like a dog, and groaned like a demon. I did all I could to fight: screamed in his ears, yowled until I was sure he'd be deaf, and clawed at his already-bloodied face. I did all this and more, until he struck me across the face with hands like steel. He beat me sightless—I saw only white fire—and then continued to have his way.

After a while, I couldn't feel him anymore. I couldn't really feel anything except the cold floor under me, and the hot sticky mess pouring from me. He was finished. For a while, (A minute, a day, sweeps?) he laid on me, panting.

I could feel him then; His skin, slick with sweat and blood and genetic material, his chest, heaving with the effort of crushing me. His face was hidden in my neck, and I could feel his eyes opening and closing.

There was a quick moment of peace, where his weight was gone and I could almost get air in between my ruptured lungs and my cracked ribs. My vision cleared, the dark-light blotches fleeing—From what, I didn't know until I fully saw him.

He was dressed again, pajama pants pulled haphazardly around his hips. His shirt collar was slung loosely around his shoulders, crooked on his collarbones. Clubs in hand, he approached. His hands were wet with my olive, muscles pulled taut. He looked me over, prodding me in places he himself had made tender and raw.

"You've lost your spunk. The fire in your eyes?" Gamzee purred. "It's gone, and too bad about it. I was maybe going to play with you some more." He sighed, shrugging. He was wrong. I'd be damned if I wasn't going to fight. I was just mustering it up, searching in all my darkest corners. I saved what I found, adding it to my stockpile with each heartbeat.

"Come closer," I rasped, more a groan than actual words.

He looked at me once.

"Yeah, whatever. I guess, since you're dying and all, there isn't much you could up and do." He kneeled, his face hovering just inches above mine.

I saw the chance and took it. I spit, blood and anger and courage and fight and hate, right in his face. Green in his eyes, in his mouth.

His features flashed with rage for a moment, and then he composed himself.

"Are you finished?" He growled.

"You tell me." He lifted his clubs, and the beating began. I was hit on my sides, my legs, my arms. Everywhere that wouldn't kill me.

Maybe a perigee later, my vision went from black to red to green to purple, then slowly cleared.

His eyes hooded, he sat by my head. His knees served as a pillow, and his hands worked on my aching, throbbing horns. Stop don't stop, I thought, though my jaw was too weak to sat it, and a purr escaped instead. He rubbed and kneaded and unanticipated pleasure rang through me. The warmth of his hands was a welcome change from my body, which was chilling more by the second. Each breath could be my last, but at that point I really didn't mind. I'd been hurting, but now I was just tired and scared. Keeping my eyes open was hard. Staying quiet was hard. Breathing was harder. So I let him wash over me, waves of olive and eggplant lapping at my broken body.

"I'll let you sleep, little slut," Is what I think he said. "Sleep, and I'll make you pretty. Maybe Karbro will notice you then." Okay, that hurt a bit. He wasn't supposed to know. I didn't care. Really, I didn't.

I shut my eyes, and he must have thought I was dead—Maybe I was—because he started painting me with something warm and slippery. He hummed while he adorned me, not a song in my ears, but a cascade of notes, falling and rising and floating and sinking. Not a melody in my ears, but a prolonged moan. Not a harmony in my ears, but chaotic turmoil. Not at all a lament, but a wail.

His fingers made swirling floral designs on my cheekbones, then lighted upon my collarbones. I couldn't sleep, not just yet. My bones were all broken, my lungs filled with blood, but my crappy, broken heart just wouldn't give out.

Until it did.


End file.
